Theophanu knelt beside him. She was accompanied by her faithful companion Leoba, who knelt with head bowed a little in front of the Eagle.

Theophanu set a candle, in its holder, on the floor.

“You mourn late,” she said in her bland voice.

“Should I not?”

Instead of answering, she rested her head on clasped hands and murmured a lengthy prayer.

He remained silent, listening for God, but heard nothing except the sigh of wind through the upper arcades that housed the bells. Shadows hid the aisles and the painted ceiling. Even the ornamentation on the pillars was colorless, washed gray by night. Did God exist equally in the shadows and in the light?

“He loved you better,” she said suddenly.

“I know. I am sorry for your sake, Theo. You didn’t deserve to have less of his love.”

She shrugged. “I became accustomed to it.”

She was so frustrating. It was impossible to know what she was thinking. That was why folk didn’t quite trust her. He just didn’t have the patience, not anymore, but he held his tongue, waiting for her to continue.

She wasn’t looking at him. Her gaze was fixed on the coffin that rested before the altar, draped by Wendar’s banner. The mass had been sung. The hymns had gone on for hours. At dawn, Henry’s remains would be laid in the crypt beside those of his beloved mother, Queen Mathilda.

After a while, she moved the candle two finger’s breadths to the right.

“Do not forget me, Sanglant. Our father did, and I was patient. Do not believe that I will be as patient for you.”

Sometimes in battle an opening appears that must be seized in the instant or forever lost. “I have need of you now, where you can serve Wendar most ably.”

“Where is that, Brother?”

“Saony.”

“As regent?”

“No, as Rotrudis’ successor. As duchess in your own right.” There it was, the merest crack seen in the lift of her chin and the crinkling of her eyes: he had amused her. “It is the obvious choice, Sanglant. Her daughters are fools and her son is a rutting beast. How better to placate me, who might challenge your claim to our father’s throne, than by offering me a duchy?”

“You have administered Saony ably these last few years.”

“So I have,” she agreed coolly. “It is the least I deserve. But, I suppose, the most I can hope for.”

“Is that a warning, or are you accepting the duchy?”

The dim light revealed an unlooked for glimpse of emotion as she glanced at him with eyes wide. Almost he thought she might chuckle, but she did not. “I’m tempted to see it given to Wichman, just to see those two harpies claw themselves to death with jealousy.”

Leoba choked down a laugh.

He snorted. “Wichman isn’t temperate enough to be a good steward. Saony is the heart of Wendar and always will be.”

“What of Sophie and Imma and Wichman? They cannot be so easily dismissed.”